


Goodbye, Joanie

by Alois_D



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Could Be Canon, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 20:59:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alois_D/pseuds/Alois_D
Summary: Brian considers that he should thank his mother for dying since, if not for that, Justin wouldn’t have come back after having been gone for eleven years. Although, he is pretty sure she would die a second time if she knew her death had allowed them to reconnect.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eureka1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eureka1/gifts).



> As always, I couldn't post this story without my half brain's help, Karynn (eureka1). Thank you so much my dear friend. I can't express properly how grateful I am for your help and friendship! <3 <3 <3

 

**_March 2017…_ **

 

He is standing there, in the first pew, staring at the coffin. It’s closed, and he doesn’t know why, but he envisions opening it to see her. Maybe he would snap at her then, in front of all the people gathered today in her Holy Church to pay their respects. He would let it out, let it all out, and the thought makes him chuckle because it’s hilarious really, even though also sad and pointless.

 

Joan is gone. She passed away and, now, it is too late. Too late for what, though, he isn’t sure.

 

Brian wants to cry. He wants to let the little boy he once was mourn his mother, because that’s what he is supposed to do, how he is supposed to feel, isn’t it? He did love her. Still loves her. He is angry at himself for that, but he can’t help it. She is his mother and loves him, albeit in a fucked-up, excruciating, narrow-minded kind of way. She wants to save him from hell. Why do that if not because she loves him?

 

_Loved_ him. Brian keeps forgetting this is real.

 

Debbie and Gus are here, standing at his side as he can’t tear his eyes away from the coffin. He almost glares at it after a while but a touch on his arm distracts him. He frowns and lowers his gaze to Debbie’s hand, before raising it to her face. She is smiling sadly at him, and as she wipes away a drop from his face, he realizes he is crying. Angry tears. Maybe sad tears. He doesn’t know and doesn’t care.

 

The Requiem Mass proceeds, with Father Tom officiating and leading the prayers and remembrances. Talking about Joan’s life - about Jack and her children - the priest stares at Brian kindly as he professes that the woman’s love for her son was real. Brian feels an almost irresistible urge to leave at the man’s saintly, hypocritical eulogy, but his feet refuse to move. He snorts, however; it’s unfortunate he didn’t think of sharing his truth about his mother with the congregation sooner - something like, ‘her humanity disappeared into the bottle and her undying love for the Lord a long time ago, but hey, thanks for coming anyway.’

 

Brian is surprised by the number of people who parade up the aisle. Claire is there of course, sobbing and whining like she always does. Her sons hadn’t bothered, thank God for small mercies. Linds, Mikey, Theodore, and Emmett have come, too, even though Brian told them not to.

 

There are a lot of people Brian doesn’t know. Parishioners probably, people praying to God every day, hoping for redemption. They walk to the coffin, touching it, some kissing their fingers and pressing them to the wood - whatever people do in front of a closed pine box - before nodding at Brian on their way out. A handful even come over to hug him, crying. He lets them and keeps quiet. He still wants to yell or cry but he can’t. He fucking can’t and he hates himself for being so weak.

 

People come and go, and soon, Brian isn’t really paying attention. That’s maybe why he doesn’t see him at first. His former lover must have been sitting in the back.

 

When he does, he freezes. Justin passes by the coffin with a curt nod, before walking over to him. He pauses in front of him.

 

They stare at each other. Brian’s throat is dry, so much so that he has to swallow twice. Maybe it’s because of Joan. Or because the only man he ever let in - now more than a decade ago - is here. It’s been eleven years since he’s seen him, but his body still reacts to his presence, especially when Justin whispers his name and takes him into his arms.

 

That’s when he allows a few more tears to fall. It’s a brief release though, and it doesn’t really help him feel better. What would help would be if he could kiss Justin in front of his mother and her God.

 

It’s a shame he can’t do that.

 

***

 

The smoke is lingering in the air, getting higher and higher before vanishing. Brian can smell it, feel it permeating his lungs while his eyes refuse to look over at the man sitting next to him.

 

“How is life?” he finally asks, not sure what answer he wants to hear. The pot is starting to soothe his body and his mind. It’s dangerous since he might blurt something lame such as ‘I missed you’ or ‘I want you’, but he doesn’t care at the moment. He will, tomorrow, after everything's said and done. For now, his only thought is that his sofa feels softer than usual as he leans his head against its back.

 

“It’s…” Justin responds, his voice trailing off. “I’m not sure.”

 

“Your art?” He takes another drag from the joint, before handing Justin the weed. Their fingers brush. It’s… weird. There isn’t exactly a spark. More like a reminiscence, a sensation. It’s so furtive that he wonders if it is even real.

 

“It’s okay,” Justin responds, shrugging and looking at the ceiling, his knees bent in front of him as he leans back. Brian frowns at his response, peering over at him and noticing some wrinkles on his face that weren’t there before.

 

“Just okay?” he hisses. He is annoyed by Justin’s nonchalance, truthfully. Hell, he just buried his mother. He has a right to be upset, irrationally so. “Don’t tell me you left the Pitts to settle for ‘okay’. I taught you better than that.”

 

“You did.” Justin inhales deeply, almost coughing. “Fuck. This is strong shit.”

 

“Yeah,” Brian agrees, snatching the joint from Justin’s fingers and indulging again. He closes his eyes as he relishes the burn in his throat. That feels good. “Why are you here?” The question escapes before he realizes it. He blinks and braces himself for Justin’s explanation.

 

“Your mother died,” the artist - fuck, he is thirty-four years old now - reminds him.

 

Brian chuckles. “That she did.”  He straightens, taking the last drag of pot and crushing the stub in the ashtray on the loft’s coffee table. “So, you decided I needed you here?”

 

Justin nods. “It was time.”

 

***

 

No more words are exchanged that night. They make love, consumed by a fever they have rarely felt before.

 

Brian doesn’t know what it means or even if it means anything at all. A few hours ago, he thought he would never see Justin again. And now, his former lover is moaning in pleasure as Brian thrusts into him slowly.

 

As they come, Brian cries out loudly. He passes out from the bliss his body feels.

 

When he wakes up, he is afraid to open his eyes. He almost hopes the last day was a dream, that his mother is alive, that he can, somehow, go back in time and make her see she was wrong. It’s hard to live with the belief that he will never be loved by her for the person he is. She might have loved him as her son, since the Lord told her to, but as a man? She never did.

 

He doesn’t know why he can’t let go and forget about her, and it’s driving him insane to know he needs - craves - some sort of closure. Jack may have been the devil, but at least when he died, he made a gesture, a peace offering. Brian has that photograph to hold onto. The one where he is barely born, given by a father who is going to die.

 

But Joan died alone, without having spoken to her son in eleven years. And even that last time he’d unexpectedly seen her, she’d been drunk out of her mind and staggering down the street. Brian had been bewildered to discover her wandering around. He had feared that she wouldn’t accept his help, but she had been too shitfaced to care. He had therefore walked her home without uttering a word because of that fucking nagging hope in the back of his mind, while she had stuttered incomprehensible words about her pathetic life.

 

He had hoped for a gesture, for something. Maybe a hug, even, but when they had arrived at her door, she had asked him one single question.

 

_Have you begged the Lord for forgiveness, Brian?_

 

Needless to say, he hadn’t responded, but he had stepped back. The truth is, his mother’s hurtful words always slapped him harder than Jack’s fists ever could.

 

And now, she is dead and cold, her spirit gone into the arms of God. Passed away with the unswerving conviction that she gave birth to a pervert condemned to hell.

 

But how could she think that? Brian is no pervert. He is no child molester, has no sickness which needs to be eradicated from his body. Jesus Fucking Christ. What God would allow a mother to think that about her own son? Just because he is a man who has feelings for another man. Why is that so bad? Why on earth couldn’t she accept him, instead of using God as an excuse for her own failure? It doesn’t make any sense.

 

She failed him as a mother; Brian knows that. His head understands she should have accepted him for who he was. But again, he is only human. His head doesn’t overrule his emotions, unfortunately. He wishes he could just turn them off on command, have a switch in his body somewhere, to stop them from crushing him. He doesn’t want his mother to win.

 

He doesn’t realize he is crying, again, until Justin spoons him, tightening his arms around him. Brian should freak out and push the blond away, but he doesn’t, because the warmth of Justin’s body is the only thing he wants to feel right now. So, he closes his eyes, and focuses on the hand caressing his own.

 

Eleven years. Has it really been that long? It seems like it hasn’t been, yet a lifetime at the same time. And yes, Justin is here. Brian can feel his body comforting him and it’s fucking real. Why is it he still feels so much in Justin’s presence? After all this time, he would have expected his feelings to turn into a memory, a good memory, the kind you carry on with you all your life. A memory that helps you hold onto the belief that love is worth it.

 

He doesn’t know what’s going to happen. He fully expects Justin to be gone in the morning. He doesn’t even know where he lives anymore. Justin might not be aware that Brian lives part time in New York either. It’s insane. How could they just have moved on and forgotten who they were to each other? Is it distance? Time? Have they changed? If so, why does Justin being here feel so right?

 

“You should try to sleep. You’re exhausted.” Justin’s voice resonates in his ear.

 

Brian snorts. It’s three a.m. He can’t sleep. He can’t, because his mother is dead and because he is afraid that if he closes his eyes, he will wake up alone. He doesn’t want to be alone. “Will you be here?”

 

Justin doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t freeze or stop caressing his hand. “Yes,” he responds as if it’s the easiest answer he has ever given, and Brian wants to kiss him for instantly understanding what he means.

 

So, of course, he does. His lips are bruised by the time he falls asleep.

 

***

Justin is still there the next day, as promised. Brian doesn’t ask when he is leaving. He knows he will, but he doesn’t want to know when. If he asks, he won’t be able to think about anything else. The thought that this is only temporary is petrifying. Ignorance is not much better, but at least then, Brian can pretend.

 

Justin makes him smile. Makes him laugh. They mostly fool around, not bothering much with clothes for two days. The phone rings a few times, but he purposely ignores it.

 

They don’t talk much about their lives. Mostly about encounters they’ve had, about movies, politics, the Orange Twitler in the fucking White House.

 

“In London, we call him the witless fucking cocksplat,” Justin quips as they lie on the rug, naked, Brian’s hand absently caressing the blond’s hair as he rests his head on the brunet’s shoulder.

 

His hand stops moving. “You live in London?” he asks, that bit of reality reminding him Justin isn’t part of his life anymore. He feels the blond nodding against his skin.

 

London. He went there a couple of years ago on a business trip with Theodore. He even visited that old movie theater near Leicester Place, where there was a rerun of _Gremlins_ with this actor, Jack Gallagher, doing the Q &A. He laughed so hard at the fans’ daring questions and, during the movie, watching the Gremlins getting smashed or dying, crushed in a blender.

 

It’s a good memory. But it could have been an even better one if he’d known Justin was there.

 

The blond loved him, years ago. Maybe he still does and that’s why he is here, because he has never been able to let go of them. Or maybe he doesn’t love him that way anymore and he is just… helping him, in remembrance of their love. No matter the reason, Brian is grateful he is here.

 

“What about…” Brian begins, but he doesn’t know what to ask. He has a million questions in his head, but voicing one, choosing one, is too hard. It could lead to another, then another, and then what? Justin will still live in London, while he will still travel between Pittsburgh and New York. Distance and time, among other things, will keep them from being together.

 

Of course, Justin hears him struggling; he knows Brian is happy he has come to offer his support regarding his mother’s passing, yet he also senses how raw it makes him feel.

 

“Gus is seventeen years old,” Justin states fondly, ignoring Brian’s attempt to verbalize his thoughts.

 

Brian sighs at the tightening in his chest. “It’s been seventeen years since I met you,” he replies, tilting his head to gaze down at Justin.

 

Justin lights up with that smile he is famous for.

 

***

 

“I have to go,” Justin says. It’s six p.m. on a Saturday evening when Brian feels that surge of love and despair he hasn’t felt in eleven years.

 

In this moment, he wonders if it wouldn’t have been easier not to see Justin again. But at the same time, he treasures the two days they’ve had. It’s one of those times when he can’t decide if feeling so much is worth it. Goodbyes are always so hard to deal with.

 

For the first time since Brian saw him in the House of God, Justin’s strength falters, however. When he takes him in his arms and holds him tight, Justin grips his waist, reminding him of another time when an eighteen-year-old teenager couldn’t let him go. Except that time, he was the one leaving Justin behind.

 

“I hate to leave you,” Justin whispers and Brian feels this rush of longing course through his body. The hope is there, insidious, compelling.

 

“It’s okay, Sunshine,” he breathes out in response. It’s not, not at all, but what else can he say? I want you back? I love you? He could, but it wouldn’t change anything, because Justin already knows. So, he says it again, “It’s okay,” hoping for Justin to be strong enough to do what he has to.

 

It’s strange. One of those moments where words are futile. Brian has never been able to explain why Justin is the only one who can make him feel like this. A mixture of love, bliss, hope, some pain also. Pain is inevitable when you fall in love.

 

Justin finally lets him go. He kisses him, though, putting everything he has into that kiss.

 

And then, he’s gone.

 

***

 

**_April 2017…_ **

 

His cell phone rings at two a.m.

 

Brian is in bed, lying on his back in his underwear, one hand resting on the pillow next to his head. He is staring at the ceiling, thinking of his mother again. They just placed the tombstone at the grave yesterday after he spent days, _weeks_ , thinking about the epitaph to carve on the stone.

 

‘To Joanie, a good Catholic who married and raised spawn of hell. May she be sainted for her sacrifice and rest in peace.’

 

‘To Joanie. May God offer her a Bible, a flask of whiskey, and a heart.’

 

‘To Joanie. May she live long in heaven and not bother coming back if it isn’t what she expects.’

 

‘To Joanie from her son. Fuck you for loving your God more than me _.’_

 

In the end, he settled for something simple.

 

‘To Joanie. Mother and wife.’

 

There. Simple. Efficient. No hypocritical ‘beloved’ anywhere in sight. Beloved. Be _loved_. He heard somewhere that a baby is born with a need to be loved and never outgrows it. Even Jesus gave a command: Love one another. As I have loved you, so also you must love one another.

 

Love, love, always fucking love. It’s there, everywhere, eating your soul or nourishing it. Joan has devoured his soul so many times during the course of his life. Justin, on the other hand, has helped him to heal.

 

But Justin is in London and, for all he knows, he will never see him again.

 

The phone keeps ringing, which annoys him to no end. Sighing deeply, he flips it open and glares at the number flashing on the screen. He answers, growling, “It’s two a.m in the fucking morning, so you’d better have a good reason for persistently calling me, whoever you are.”

 

“My car died,” Justin responds, unfazed, and ignoring his snapping. “My car died and I’m fucking soaked, and I don’t know what to do.”

 

His bad mood vanishes instantly. “Where are you?”

 

“My GPS app says I’m still 334 miles away from Pittsburgh. I’ve barely left New York! Fucking, stupid, shitty rental car,” Justin grouses. He sounds like a seventeen-year-old brat.

 

Make that fifteen.

 

“I’m in New York,” Brian replies. His forehead hurts. He rubs the skin, but it doesn’t help. He rubs some more.

 

“What the fuck are you doing in New York?” Justin seems genuinely surprised.

 

“I live here. Part time,” he discloses, because it’s the truth and because he is kind of upset that Justin hasn’t known until now. He should know. “Get into your car and text me your location. I’m on my way.”

 

“It’s two a.m. on a Tuesday morning; and it’s raining,” Justin states. Brian can imagine his scowl traveling down the freeway to his penthouse.

 

He rolls his eyes. “What the fuck does the rain have to do with anything?”

 

“I’m not sure,” Justin answers. He seems annoyed not to have a better answer. In fact, he seems annoyed, period, but he is soaked and he must be cold and tired. Although, what the fuck was he thinking, driving in the middle of the night?

 

“Justin,” Brian calls his name, wincing slightly. His head has been killing him for the past couple of hours.

 

“What?” Justin barks in irritation. Brian could swear the blond just kicked the defenseless car’s tire.

 

“What are you doing on the freeway at two in the fucking morning?” he inquires bluntly as he decides to dress, grabbing the first pair of jeans in his closet. He snatches a shirt from a hanger.

 

“What do you think?” Justin responds. Brian hears a door slamming, followed by the drumming of hail on the windshield, echoing in the background.

 

“I don’t know. Enlighten me,” he mocks as he plops down on his bed to don his pants.  

 

“You’re fucking slow sometimes,” Justin complains. “I was going to Pittsburgh.”

 

Brian pauses, barking out a dry laugh. “Thank you, Einstein, but I think I could have figured that out all by myself. Now, cut the bullshit and give me the real reason,” he demands as he puts his shirt on.

 

“I’m freezing, Brian,” Justin retorts, as if being cold is a valid excuse for not answering a simple question.

 

“Well, use your brain and put the heater on,” he advises curtly.

 

“The car is dead. The heater is dead. And… fuck! My battery will be dead soon, too,” Justin laments as his phone beeps. “I need to hang up to send you the coordinates, before I can’t. Because if you don’t find me Brian, I swear I’m going to freeze to death.”

 

“Don’t you have dry clothes in the rental?” Traveling with a spare set of clothing sounds like a reasonable supposition, considering that, as far he knows, Justin’s home is in another part of the world.

 

“I… fuck!” Justin curses, his phone beeping some more. “It’s going to die. Listen, I’m parked about a mile before the exit heading to Tewks-”

 

“Justin?” Brian calls, but all he can hear is the dial tone. He pulls his cell away from his ear and glares at it. “Fantastic, Sunshine.”

 

***

 

Seventy-seven minutes.

 

It’s the time it takes Brian to find him after having deduced the location - Tewksbury - thanks to the distance and the partial name Justin mentioned. The dashboard clock blinks 3:34 a.m. when he pulls over on the I-78 just behind the Chrysler, the wiper blades rapidly erasing drops of water still falling steadily from the dark sky.

 

He leaves the motor running with the headlights on, and waits. As he stares at the other car through the windshield, he briefly considers that Justin might have fallen asleep.

 

He is wrong. The blond gets out of his rental with a large duffle bag - he always was fond of those shitty things - looks up at the sky, and runs to his car. He taps on the window, prompting Brian to lean over and open the passenger door.

 

Justin hurriedly climbs in, throwing his bag onto the back seat. Water is running down his face. His hair is damp, plastered to his forehead. But his clothes aren’t soaked.

 

Justin must notice the look on Brian’s face. “I followed your advice and changed.”

 

Brian chuckles dryly in response.

 

He isn’t sure what he feels at the moment. Seventy-seven minutes is a long time to be alone with his own thoughts and during that time, he has experienced so many emotions: excitement, bewilderment, happiness, confusion, gratitude, fear, and more. Is there a way to sum all those feelings up? Apart from ‘You’re so fucked’? Justin is sitting in his car for the second time in three weeks, after an eleven-year absence. It’s four in the morning. He is tired, but more than that, he feels happy, elated.

 

He is pathetic, for _God_ ’s sake.

 

And as he tries to understand what it means, why he is here with Justin, running to him at the first phone call, hoping for life to give him what he had secretly waited for ever since the blond’s departure, he asks God, one more time: Why? Because the truth is, God is never far from his thoughts these days. Ever since his mother died, he’s thought about Him more than he cares to admit. He isn’t even a believer. More of an agnostic. And yet, he talks to him at night, asking one question.

 

_Why?_

 

He is still waiting for an answer, and he is utterly pissed off at himself for that.

 

“Nice car,” Justin comments, probably questioning why he hasn’t put the car in motion yet.

 

Brian frowns as he reflects on Justin’s words. Strangely, he thinks about that day a month ago, when he’d spent hours in the Mercedes. Having received the phone call from his hysterical sister informing him that the woman who had given birth to him was dead, he had hung up and sat back in his chair. He’d stayed there for ten, twenty minutes maybe, before grabbing his keys from the top of his desk, picking up his jacket from the back of his chair, and walking out of his office. His assistant had called after him, but he’d kept walking to the door, then to his car. Once inside, he had placed his jacket on the passenger seat, locked his seatbelt, turned the key in the ignition, and driven back to his hometown, until he’d finally parked in front of his mother’s house. He’d stayed there for hours watching the once black front door, grayed and warped by the passage of time, the filthy window of his old bedroom, the dying flowers alongside the porch.

 

He didn’t know then that he would see Justin a few days later, simply because Joan was gone. Brian considers that he should thank her for dying since, if not for that, Justin wouldn’t have come back. Although, he is pretty sure she would die a second time if she knew her death had allowed them to reconnect and fuck.

 

Now, that thought makes him grin. “You saw the Mercedes in Pittsburgh three weeks ago after Joan’s funeral,” he finally responds to Justin’s comment.

 

“I did?” Justin frowns. Brian puts the car in motion. “You’re right, I walked you to your car; I remember now. I was more focused on you than on these leather seats, though. Does it- Oh, yes! This has a massage command, am I right?”

 

Brian genuinely laughs this time. “Push on the button here…” he leans over to press the remote control, brushing Justin’s thigh. He feels the blond shiver, probably from the cold, since Justin looks like he is still fighting to warm himself up. “The other button controls the temperature. It’ll heat up.”

 

Justin chuckles. “You’re still using that one?”

 

“Huh?” Brian squints, his gaze focused on the road.

 

“When you took my virginity, you used those exact same words, just before making love to me.” Justin explains, his voice taking on a shyer edge.

 

Brian swallows. He isn’t sure what to say, so he simply replies, “I did?”

 

Justin nods and hums in agreement, a small smile on his lips.

 

***

 

God may not have responded to his question, but he must have heard his plea. It’s been a week since Justin called him on a Tuesday at two in the morning, and he is still there.

 

Brian is biding his time. He doesn’t know what to think. He almost expects Justin to be gone at the end of the day, every day, but when he comes home from work, the blond is always in the penthouse.

 

It’s Wednesday. By nine p.m, they have already fucked three times and it’s not enough. Brian isn’t complaining since the sex is fantastic, maybe even better than before, but he is forty-six years old, emphasis on the old. He never believed the day would come, but, his dick is tired. Exhausted. It only holds on because it feels totally high from the pure ecstasy of being with Justin.

 

And of course, he relishes the feeling of Justin’s body against his own. He loves that intimacy. He’s missed it. But truthfully, it’s scary because he doesn’t really know what’s going on.

 

Voicing his feelings and desires has never been easy. Most of the time, he can’t. The words are just stuck in his gut. They echo inside him, refusing to escape. It’s like his emotions have a mind on their own and decide to taunt and mock him while he desperately tries to let them out and fails.

 

This is one of those times. He is here, lying in bed with Justin and he wants to tell him. Tell him everything.

 

_I love you._

 

_Don’t leave me_.

 

In the end, all he manages to whisper is, “Why are you here?” and even then, his voice is too quiet.

 

He can’t see the blond’s face since he is staring at the ceiling, with Justin’s head resting on his shoulder. But of course, Justin straightens up and looks at him when he voices the question that has been haunting him for a week. Brian can feel his stare, understands Justin has heard him but won’t respond to his question until he returns his gaze. He could keep pretending to be fascinated with the infinitesimal crack near the ceiling light, but he wants an answer. So, he peers at Justin, albeit reluctantly. He is fucking scared.

 

Justin’s blue eyes are soft, kind. “I’m here because of you,” he responds gently.

 

“What does that mean?” Brian hates how vulnerable he sounds. He doesn’t want Justin to know how important this is to him, even though it’s eating him up inside.

 

“What does that mean?” Justin echoes. He tilts his head, probably trying to figure out what’s going on in Brian’s. “Well…” he moves over to sit next to his lover, facing him, while Brian leans back against the headboard. “It means I’m back… if you want me. But I know you do because you’re deeply, passionately, madly in love with me, so it means I’m never going to leave you again. You’re stuck with me... Mr. Kinney,” he concludes with a cocky grin.

 

Brian barks out a laugh. Fuck, it feels good. His laughter dies out as Justin’s smile does too. Their eyes lock, Justin blinking twice before leaning in for his lover’s lips. And when they kiss, all that remains is the bliss.

 

“I love you,” Justin says. His voice quivers.

 

Brian’s heart is singing and that thought is so corny, but he doesn’t give a shit. It’s difficult to think that the wait is over and that finally, _finally_ , they’ve made it. And they have dear Joanie to thank for that.

 

What a wonderful world it is.

 

***

 

**_March 2018…_ **

 

Brian follows Justin to the entrance to the cemetery. He pauses, glancing inside, noticing an old woman cleaning the dirt from a grave. She is old, probably over eighty, older than his own mother ever will be.

 

Justin is waiting for him to take the first step, so he takes a deep breath and places his hand on the small of the blond’s back. They slowly move forward, walking between the graves. It’s kind of noisy, walking in a cemetery. The sounds of their feet crunching on the gravel, rustling on the freshly-mown grass, are the only things Brian hears. It’s so quiet otherwise.

 

He walks some more and finally stops in front of the tombstones.

 

Jack Kinney.

 

Joan Kinney.

 

Names carved into stone. It’s weird to think that their remains are buried in the ground under his feet, locked up in pine boxes for eternity. Brian moves back at the thought, as if the gesture means he respects the dead and doesn’t trample on their memory. Like a son who loves and mourns his parents.

 

Truthfully, he isn’t sure exactly what he is doing here. It’s been a year since his mother died, and so what? He has never liked to celebrate birthdays for the living; he sure as hell isn’t going to start for the dead.

 

But Justin insisted he should go. And since for some reason he is balless where his husband is concerned, he agreed. Wait, he _is_ balless. It’s a fact, and according to Saint Joan, it was God’s gift to him, a warning to redeem himself.

 

“ _You think God gave me cancer to punish me_?” he remembers asking, feeling like he’d been punched and, truthfully, he still feels pretty much the same way every time he thinks about that encounter. He also still believes in what he said to her. He’d rather spend an eternity of eternities in Hell than a good day in Heaven with a mother who genuinely believed ‘he brought tears to Jesus’s eyes’ by being gay.

 

Somehow, her outburst echoes in his head, “ _Shame! Shame on you!_ ” But then, he peers over at Justin standing next to him in front of the tombstones, and her voice fades to the back of his mind.

 

Justin holds his gaze, before looking back at the graves.

 

Brian peers down at the grass. Sparse blades are sticking up from the soil, and his shoes are stained with dirt. Looking around with a frown, he squints in the sunlight, feeling a soft wind rising. A man walks down the main path, his face down, a child skipping along at his side.

 

Glancing back at the graves, Brian feels like he should say something, but he has no clue what it would be.

 

Justin doesn’t move from his spot as he keeps staring at the tombstones. Brian isn’t sure what they are waiting for, until Justin reaches for something in his pocket. He retrieves it slowly. It’s a folded piece of paper, maybe a letter.

 

Justin looks at his husband. “You have something to say?”

 

“Something to say?” Brian echoes. He doesn’t understand what Justin is getting at.

 

“To your mom,” Justin clarifies, unfolding the page in his hand.

 

Brian snorts. “She is dead and six feet under. I’m not having a conversation with my dead mother.”

 

“Well, suit yourself. I am,” Justin informs him. He holds the letter, and Brian hears the paper crinkling softly in the breeze.

 

He looks at Justin, bewildered.

 

The blond gives him a reassuring smile, and begins to read.

 

_Mrs. Kinney,_

 

_My name is Justin Taylor._

 

_In fact, it’s Taylor-Kinney now, which means that if you were alive, you’d be my mother-in-law._

 

_I’m thirty-five-years old; I’m an artist; and, obviously, I’m gay. I’ve been in love with your son since I was seventeen. And since we’re family, I’ve thought introducing myself to you properly would be the polite thing to do, although we will unfortunately never meet again in this life. We did, once. The day you discovered Brian loved men, not women. It was because of me; I was the guy he was fucking in his bed when you showed up._

 

_You passed away a year ago, and a lot of things have happened since then. I could tell you all about them, but I won’t. The only thing you should know is that I asked Brian to marry me and he said yes._

 

_I have one regret, Mrs. Kinney. I should have come back sooner. Because if I had, I could have spoken to you while you were still alive. I would have told you how wrong you were regarding your only son. Made you understand what you were losing by turning your back on him. And I’m sorry I didn’t. I really am._

 

_The truth is, you were a cunt, a poor excuse of a mother. You should have loved him for who he was, no matter who he loved. Believe me Mrs. Kinney, he could have made you so proud and happy, if only you’d let him._

 

_The worst part is, HE would have let you. After all the horrible things you said to him; after accusing him of engaging in abominable behavior, of molesting a child, acting like a sinner, not caring, not respecting you, not loving you; after all that, he would have loved you if you’d allowed him to, because this is who he is. And I should probably thank you for all the shit you and your husband put him through, since if you hadn’t hurt him like you did, he probably wouldn’t be the man he is today. You have no idea, no idea at all, how much he loves me._

 

_Since you’re not there anymore, I will make a vow to you, here and now. I will cherish and love your son, for the rest of my life. And you will watch us from Heaven or Hell or wherever you are, and you will smile. You hear me? You will smile, because you may not have loved him as you should have, but I will._

 

_And one day, you will meet again, and you will be grateful. Until then, be happy, Mrs. Kinney, and thank the Lord, because your son is loved. He will always be loved._

 

Justin stops reading and folds the paper, before slipping it back into his pocket.

 

Brian is still breathing, which, considering he’s quite shaken, is kind of amazing. Although, his eyes aren’t as dry as he wants them to be. He isn’t openly crying, but he is struggling. He’s never talked to his mom like that. Never been honest and called her on her bullshit, or told her how deeply she hurt him during all those years. He even was silly enough to believe that discovering he was gay couldn’t possibly worsen a relationship that was already so damaged. It amazes him how naive he still was at the time.

 

But then, hearing Justin defending him against her, telling her what he never had the courage to voice, he feels… he doesn't really know how he feels, but it’s exhilarating.

 

Justin bites his lip. Brian stares as he does, before hurriedly taking the step separating him from his husband. He closes his eyes, feels Justin’s mouth against his own, feels the warmth, lets it overwhelm him. Justin is right. It’s insane how much he loves him.

 

Their lips barely breaking apart, Justin whispers, “You’re ready to go?”

 

Brian nods against Justin’s forehead. His thumb roams over the side of Justin’s face.

 

Leaning back, he peers over at the graves one last time, his eyes lingering on her name.

 

“Goodbye, Joanie.” He doesn’t add anything else because there is nothing more to say. The little boy inside him will always love his mom, even though he lost her a long time ago. And now, it’s time to let her go.

 

Brian’s eyes land on Justin’s face. He can’t help but smile as he looks at him. He grabs his hand, preventing his husband from moving, and calls his name quietly, “Justin…”

 

Justin gazes at him, waiting for him to speak.

 

He could say ‘I love you’ or ‘thank you’, anything to show his gratitude. But again, Justin knows. So, there is only one thing left to say. “You didn’t mention the fucking in your vow. It’s a huge omission.”

 

Justin bursts out laughing.

 

THE END

  
  
  
  



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